The Show (51 page)

‘But why?’ Annabel asked. ‘Why do you care so much about somebody else’s marriage? Ever since you met that woman you’ve been obsessed with her. I know you, Eddie. I can see it in your eyes.’

‘Then look at my eyes.’ Reaching under her chin, he tilted her head up to look at him. ‘I’m in love with you, Annabel. I’m obsessed with you. I swear to you, on Milo’s life, on my mother’s grave: I have never slept with Laura Baxter. Do you believe me?’

Annabel Wellesley looked up at her husband. The thought of trusting him again was terrifying. She looked at her packed bags and the life of calm and peace and loneliness that they promised.

Milo knocked on the bedroom door. ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ he said sheepishly. ‘But we’re laying places for dinner. Just wondered if we’re going to be three or four?’

Eddie looked questioningly at Annabel, who returned his gaze. When it was just the two of them away from politics, away from the media and the spotlight, they were happy together. Why was it that those peaceful moments never seemed to last? The truth was: marriage to Eddie had always been a rollercoaster, and it probably always would be. On the other hand, it was the only life Annabel really knew. And she did love him.

‘Four,’ she told Milo.

Eddie’s face crumpled with relief.

‘But do try to encourage your wife not to burn the cheese crust. If there’s one thing I can’t abide, it’s overcooked cauliflower cheese.’

Gabe didn’t realize he was drunk until he took a sip of his fifth mug of mulled wine and realized he’d stirred two teaspoons of salt into it. Tipping it down the sink, he poured himself a whisky instead, grabbed a large handful of Quality Street from the bowl on the table and returned to the mountain of half-wrapped presents on the drawing-room floor.

He’d enjoyed the carols and seeing Macy. In a funny way he felt as if they’d really made peace. But afterwards, back at the farm, a deep gloom had descended almost immediately. Just looking at the boys’ toys brought a tear to his eye. Tomorrow they would play at being happy families, and Gabe would give it his all. But that’s what it would be: an act. Tonight, wrapping presents alone, he felt the full weight of their loss, like a millstone on his chest, crushing the breath out of his body.

Determined not to wallow, he’d opted for the three-pronged cure of Marks & Spencer’s ready-made mulled wine (two bottles), an entire packet of Mr Kipling’s mince pies, and Jeremy Clarkson on the telly.

It worked for a bit. But now Gabe’s head hurt, the present mountain was both unfinished and moving, and the
Top Gear Christmas Special
was still on Live Pause, because Gabe had put the Sky remote down somewhere earlier and now couldn’t find it. He’d have to do some serious tidying up before Laura and the kids arrived tomorrow. They weren’t due till ten, though, thank God. If he got to work right after the first feeding at five, he should have the place sparkling in good time.

He ignored the first knock on the door, assuming it was something falling off a hook in the kitchen. Whatever it was, he would fix it tomorrow. After a lot of Alka-Seltzer. But the second knock was more insistent.

Who on earth would be coming round at nearly ten o’clock at night on Christmas Eve? He prayed it wasn’t Macy. In his current, drunken state, his powers of resistance were not at their peak, and that was one can of worms he really didn’t want to reopen.

Weaving his way to the door, he opened it and was immediately knocked flying by two small, human missiles. Hugh and Luca, both in pyjamas with duffel coats and woolly hats pulled on over the top, tackled him to the ground, squealing with excitement as they clambered on top of him like a pack of hyenas bringing down an elephant.

‘Daddy!’

‘Has he come yet?’

‘He hasn’t come yet, has he?’

‘Who?’ said Gabe, pulling one son to each side of his body so he could breathe.

Hugh gave him a withering look. ‘Father Christmas, of course!’

‘Oh! Of course. Er, no. He hasn’t. Not yet.’

Laura stood in the doorway behind them. In a camel wool coat and boots, with chic leather gloves and her skin glowing from the cold, she looked as beautiful as Gabe had ever seen her. She was swaying a bit, and every now and then there were two of her. But that only made her twice as lovely.

Setting down her suitcase, she pulled two hand-knitted stockings out from an outside, zip-up pocket and handed one to each of the boys.

‘You see. I told you. Why don’t you run upstairs and hang them on your beds right now? Then you can clean your teeth and get into bed quick sticks. Dad and I’ll be up in a minute.’

Gabe stood up and rubbed his head as the boys shot up the stairs, still in their coats and heavy boots, which made a terrific clomping noise as they disappeared to their old bedroom.

‘I thought you were at your parents?,’ he said to Laura. ‘I wasn’t expecting you till the morning.’

‘I know,’ said Laura. ‘I changed my mind. Is that all right? I know it’s rather at the last minute.’

‘It’s amazing!’ said Gabe. ‘I’m so happy you’re here.’

Too drunk to hide his emotions, he glowed with happiness like a human lamp. Laura glowed back.

‘So am I.’

The two of them stood there, beaming silently at one another like a couple of mute teenagers.

‘I had lunch with Eddie the other day,’ Laura told him. ‘He gave me a bit of a talking-to.’

‘Oh?’ Gabe tried in vain to stop the hope from flickering to life inside him.

‘Yes,’ said Laura. ‘He said you were still in love with me.’

Gabe’s mouth went dry. ‘You know I am.’

‘And he said I was still in love with you. And that we only have one life, and really I should stop being such a dick and call off the divorce and move back in.’

A terrible silence fell. Gabe cleared his throat.

‘He said “dick”?’

Laura smiled. ‘He said “dick”.’

‘I think I was the dick,’ said Gabe.

‘You were,’ agreed Laura. ‘That’s what I told Eddie. But the thing is …’ She bit her lip and looked at the ground. Gabe thought he might faint waiting for her to go on. ‘He’s right. I’ve tried to do this without you. And it just doesn’t work.’

Gabe walked over to her. Tentatively, he reached out and placed a hand on her cheek. It was ice cold beneath his warm fingers, but so soft and round and perfect he could have collapsed with longing.

‘What doesn’t work?’ he asked gruffly.

Laura looked up, blushing furiously. ‘Erm … life. Everything. Sleeping. Breathing. That sort of thing. I thought …’

She broke off again.

‘Yes?’ Gabe said impatiently. Didn’t she know she was killing him?

‘I thought we might try again?’

Gabe grabbed her face and kissed her so hard she staggered backwards against the door. It wasn’t so much a kiss as an invasion. His face ground against hers, the stubble scraping at her skin. His mouth, hot and soft and tasting of wine and cinnamon and cloves, pressed into hers until they were one body, one being. Laura responded in kind, running her hands over his body like a blind woman, drinking in every inch of him, delirious with longing and relief.

Finally pulling away, Gabe grabbed her hand and pulled her into the drawing room. Despite his neglect, a fire was still burning in the grate. He began rummaging through the stacks of paper scattered on the coffee table.

‘This place is a tip!’ said Laura.

‘Shhh,’ said Gabe, still rummaging.

‘And can we please turn off James May? What have you done with the controller?’

‘Shut
up
!’ said Gabe. ‘Ah. Here it is.’

Pulling out the decree nisi, he passed it to Laura, keeping hold of one end of the paper himself. ‘Let’s do it together, shall we?’

Laura smiled. ‘Yes. Let’s.’

Walking over to the fire, they held the document over the flames.

‘One. Two.’

‘Three,’ said Laura.

They watched together as it fluttered down onto the burning logs, curled up and blackened at the corners, then exploded all at once into a bright, white flame.

‘What are you
doing
?’ Hugh and Luca appeared behind them, hopping up and down in their pirate pyjamas. ‘You said you’d come up. He could be here
any minute
!’

‘Sorry,’ said Gabe, clasping Laura’s hand. ‘Mummy and I got a bit distracted.’

‘We’re coming now,’ said Laura.

Following their children up the stairs, hand in hand, Laura and Gabe looked at each other and realized there was nothing left to wish for.

Christmas had already come.

Keep Reading: The Inheritance

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As ONE SUMMER’S AFTERNOON rolls around, the annual Fittlescombe vs Brockhurst cricket match is older than the Ashes, and every bit as hotly contested – and is more exclusive than the Buckingham Palace Summer Garden Party and more star-studded than Cartier Polo. The Fittlescombe team have their hopes pinned on local boy Will Nuttley, but 24 year-old Will has his heart set on winning back the love of his life, Emma Harwich. As the champagne goes on ice and the sandwiches are being cut, little do the Swell Valley residents know that Emma is intent on sleeping with the enemy, and it’s throwing Will into a spin …

ONE CHRISTMAS MORNING is not the time to get your heart broken … Dumped by the love of her life and in need of some time to recover, screenwriter Laura Tiverton retreats to the idyllic village of Fittlescombe where she used to spend time as a girl. Maybe lending her expertise to the annual nativity play will be just what she needs. But with two gorgeous men on the horizon and a disastrous night at the ball, on the night before Christmas, who will be able to persuade her that the show must go on?

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